Isn't That a Girl's Name?
"Georgia? Isn't that a girl's name?" The newly minted Agent Georgia groaned and rubbed his face wearily. "Don't remind me," he grumbled. "I mean, this project isn't even off the ground yet and already someone up top has it in for me. Why the hell was that name so high up the list?" "There's a list?" the well-built, fair-haired guy Georgia was now supposed to be calling "California" asked, inspecting his new locker. Nice-looking muscles, Georgia had decided a few seconds ago when they'd met, but not enough creativity to put them to much use. Probably infantry, or maybe some kind of lower-tier special forces. "I thought it was all random." "There's like, what, two women here so far?" Georgia complained. "I mean, Carolina I get, but Montana? That's not a girl's name, is it? Why can't I swap with her?" "It's not exactly a guy's name, either," California pointed out. He slung his duffle bag off his shoulder and let it fall to the locker room floor with a raspy thud. Georgia glanced down at its fall, but then looked back up. Clearly nothing interesting in there. "How many people are here so far, anyway?" "Let's see." Georgia leaned against his own locker, watching California unpack while he counted on his fingers. California clearly knew the drill; he barely needed to look into his pack as he worked and kept looking up to listen to what was being said. He'd done this plenty of times before then. Lots of deployments, or maybe they'd just kept moving him around a lot. "There's me, you, Montana, Carolina, that Wyoming guy, and a couple others. I heard they've got a bunch of Marine knuckle-draggers coming in on the next shuttle, too. Hey, that's it. Maybe I can call seniority and make one of the new guys trade with me." "Marines, huh?" California asked. He neatly stacked a few extra jumpsuits at the bottom of his locker. So lots of inspections then—more time spent in barracks than in the field. What kind of program was this? "They pulled me from the Army for this gig. '41st Infantry, straight off of Reach. They said my PT scores were off the charts, whatever that means. What about you? Where'd they dig you up?" "Oh," Georgia said with a dismissive shrug. He'd been right about the infantry bit, then. And a Reach posting meant that most of this poor guy's COs would have been career hardasses, desk jockeys every one. "I'm Navy. Don't have a clue what they wanted with me, but at this point I just go where they tell me." "Really?" California actually sounded impressed. Georgia had heard that tone before, usually from people who'd never been to space in their life. A Reach native then? No off-planet experience outside of basic? "You see any action before this? In the war?" Georgia rolled his eyes. If this California guy had any combat experience, it was against local rebels and not the Covenant. Who had been so desperate to fill the roster that they'd pulled in anyone they could get their hands on? "I pulled my share of tours. All shipboard stuff, though. No boarding actions are anything like that. Isn't this a program for commandos? What do they expect me to do, fly the ship for them?" "I guess we'll find out soon enough." California set an empty canteen on top of the jumpsuits and frowned at his empty duffel, clearly surprised by how much space was left in his locker. "If I'd known these things would be so big I'd have brought more stuff..." "At least I don't have to worry about getting blown up by the Covenant out here," Georgia continued. So Army, Reach native, and practically a novice. Not exactly what he'd been expecting when his superiors had described Project: FREELANCER in the briefing. Then again, that was a good thing. It meant there'd be plenty more Californias to follow. "And I don't have to write reports anymore. Or talk to inquiry boards. Hell, it hardly feels like we're in the military at all." "Hell yeah," California replied, perking up. "That's what's so great about this, man. We'll get to test out a bunch of cool equipment and we get paid extra for it. All I want to know is why I couldn't sign on sooner." "Probably because this whole deal didn't exist until a few weeks ago," Georgia pointed out. Not only was California green, he was desperate to live out some of the fantasies they played in the propaganda vids. "There's supposed to be forty-nine of us out here. That's probably where they came up with the old American states business. Minus the Canadian ones, of course." "Speaking of the military," California said thoughtfully. Maybe there was some hope for him after all. "What were you in the Navy? I was just a PFC when they called me up. What were you, some kind of petty officer?" Georgia threw open his own locker, scowling as he saw his new monicker printed on the nameplate. It was really starting to get under his skin. "Actually, I was a commander." California looked stunned. He very nearly came to attention right there until Georgia waved him down. "Sorry, sir, I had no idea—" "Oh, just forget I said anything," Georgia muttered dismissively, focusing on his empty locker. "And ditch the 'sir' crap while you're at it. I don't think any of that matters here, anyway." "Yes, sir—I mean, sure, whatever you want." California relaxed again, but he still looked like he expected Georgia to turn around and bite his head off. Georgia could only imagine what sort of hellish, drill and ceremony obsessed gulag he'd been pulled from. No wonder he was itching for this sort of posting. "But what's a Navy commander doing here?" "That's what I said," Georgia said irritably. Best everyone think he didn't want to be here right off the bat. "But they wanted me here, so here I am. With a stupid name and no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do." "Well, at least we're all in this together," California pointed out. Now that he knew Georgia's rank, he'd either want to be his friend or use the lack of formalities to make his life hell. If Georgia was right about where he'd come from, the latter was more likely. Still, maybe it couldn't hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt. "That's what that counselor guy said, right? We're a team now. All for one and one for all." "Sure, whatever keeps you motivated. Guess you haven't seen the ranking board yet." "The what board?" Georgia turned and gave California a wry smile. A little intimidation couldn't hurt. It would keep California on his toes. "So you haven't seen it then. They're going to be ranking us somehow. Number one to number forty-nine, the best to the worse. Guess we'll see how long that whole teamwork stuff lasts once that thing goes up." He snapped the locker shut and strode abruptly from the room. So that was Agent California. Not exactly the cream of the crop, but that meant it wouldn't take much to fit right in. That was a relief. "Well, whatever. I'm gonna go see if it isn't too late to get this name switched.. Catch you later." "Yeah," California said behind him, watching Georgia go with a shake of his head. Georgia stopped just around the corner, waiting to hear the man mutter: "A commander, huh? Doesn't sound like much of an officer to me." He smiled. Sometimes this was just too easy. ** "Fly the ship, huh?" Agent Georgia stopped in his tracks. He turned to see a lanky woman leaning against the corner of the hallway he'd just passed, arms folded. Her stringy black hair was combed back in a neat, military cut that fell just below her shoulder line. Her eyes—narrowed and observant, just like his—told him that she'd heard every word. "Oh, it's you," he said, thrusting his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. A wiry, pale-faced man with a head of untidy dark hair, he looked at the world through narrowed grey eyes of a cat: always finding the interesting and the amusing in everything around him. "Guess I should've known you'd already be snooping around. And what's this I'm supposed to call you now? Montana?" "You don't have to call me anything at all," Agent Montana replied, raising an eyebrow. She'd always been a tricky one to read, harder than any of his other colleagues had ever been. Then again, she was from the Office of Naval Intelligence just like him. "Hard to read" was part of the job description. "As far as I'm concerned, it's best if we pretend we've never met before. And no, I'm not trading names with you." "Well, shoot," Georgia said. "Right when I'd gotten my opes up, too." She shot him another look, one that he'd seen in those keen eyes of hers quite a few times before. Maybe it was amusement, or maybe a warning not to push his luck. Plenty of Insurrectionists and Covenant warriors had made the mistake of misjudging her in the past. More often than not, Georgia had been around to see the results. They hadn't made for pleasant viewing. "You won't get away with that confused crewman act for long," Montana informed him briskly. "I just got out of a meeting with our new boss. He and that counselor they assigned him already have my entire career sketched out on a dossier. They know I'm from ONI. Hell, the smug bastard even told me he was looking forward to seeing me in action." "Well, sounds like someone just can't take a compliment." Georgia gave Montana a self-satisfied grin. So they'd told her plainly that they knew everything there was to know about her. If they'd thought that would intimidate her, they were dead wrong. From now on she'd just be making sure they didn't know half as much as they thought they did. "Besides, your file isn't the one that's covered in black ink. I can pretend to be whoever I want out here. It's one of the perks to being me." She shook her head. He'd have to remember not to underestimate her; hanging around the likes of California were bound to make him complacent. You couldn't just talk your way around Montana—she saw right through it. "Yeah, because having your entire file classified won't draw any attention at all..." "Hey, he can make all the assumptions he wants." If the Director wanted to go crawling through a cesspool of ONI firewalls and encryption coding, that was his own time wasted. "I plan to just sit back and enjoy my hazard pay while I'm not getting shot at." "Why am I not surprised? I bet you dragged your feet and made a fuss until they mentioned the extra pay." There was a strange look in Montana's eyes: contempt, or maybe disappointment? Not something he'd seen there before, especially not directed at him. She'd grown more of a head on her shoulders since the last time he'd seen her. "But don't think you can start pulling things over this guy. He thinks he's a lot smarter than he actually is, which makes him dangerous as far as ONI's concerned." "So I'm not the only one you're here to keep an eye on..." "You? You're barely a footnote in my reports. I'm here to make sure ONI's investment pays off, not babysit you. Don't go getting a swollen head just because we're out of the field now. As long as you don't get in my way, you can do whatever the hell you want." "Don't worry, I'm on my best behavior." He shrugged. It didn't really matter if she were here to spy on him or not. He didn't plan on doing anything notable. Far from it. "Not like I can cause much trouble around here anyway. Isn't that why ONI tossed me into the program in the first place?" "If they knew what a slacker you'd turned into, they might not have even bothered. Are you really going to tell everyone that you're just some bridge jockey?" Georgia just laughed, hoping the sting from his former subordinate's barb didn't show on his face. He was surprised it even hurt at all, yet somehow there was still a chink in his armor. Funny how that worked out. "I think five years of black ops is more than enough time to give to ONI, don't you? I'm just going to take things easy from here on out. You can't say I haven't earned a little break." Montana's expression softened, if only a little. Then she had noticed. It had been stupid to think she wouldn't. "Listen, I know it's been rough out there in the field since, well, you know. But this work is important to the war effort. I know what you can do. You can't just give up—" Georgia cut her off with a wave of his hand. It was bad enough he'd have her looking over his shoulder at every turn. He shouldn't let her think he needed a shoulder to cry on. They'd both been trained to prey on weaknesses like that. "Don't patronize me. I'll do my bit, don't you worry about that. Just don't hold your breath waiting for me to bust my ass out there anymore. For ONI or for anyone else. We both know all the good that's done me." He turned to go. Hard to believe a conversation with a woman his own age—she'd been his damned subordinate for Christ's sake—could make him so uncomfortable. Still, he couldn't help stopping to look back again. She was watching him with those same inscrutable eyes, and it bothered him to think that maybe he'd lost more of that talent than he'd realized. "By the way, isn't this an awfully public place to be talking about this kind of shit?" "It was." Montana actually smiled, a dangerous sign for everyone involved. "That's why I rigged the security systems around the locker room to scramble everything they pick up when I'm around. Finished that little job while I was listening in on your conversation with that grunt back in the locker room." "Guess I should have been watching for you in there," he muttered ruefully. The Director had certainly gotten more than he'd bargained for with Agent Montana. It was too bad Georgia didn't care enough to take part, though he'd enjoy watching from the sidelines. "Some things never change." "And some things do," she replied with a shake of her head. "You've changed, Georgia. What happened to the fighter you used to be? The one who led half my ops? The one who did more for—" "He got sick and tired of being ONI's whipping boy," Georgia snapped, his frustration finally boiling over. Where did she get off, telling him off for deciding enough was enough? How could she possibly think this was just a case of someone burning out? "You try being the doormat sometime. See how long you stay motivated." There, he'd done it. For the briefest of moments, a hint of surprise and regret were visible behind Montana's expressions. Then they were gone and she was the calm, self-assured operative. It told him all he needed to know, just like he'd done with California. She thought he was losing cause now, if not lost already, which was just the way he liked it. "Anyway, even if I can't get your name I'm going to get myself a better one, even if I have to kick the Director's door down to get it. If one more person tells me that Georgia is a girl's name..." He shook his head and tossed an idle wave over his shoulder as he trudged off. "See you around, Montana."